Slowing My Rolls

I could eat pizza every day and at one point in my life, I did.

It all started my freshman year of college when I first realized the freedom of being on my own.  I could stay out as late as I wanted, sleep in as late as I wanted and eat pizza anytime I wanted.

And why not eat it all the time?  After all, it’s cheap, it’s easy, it’s versatile—a great breakfast, lunch or dinner (on many occasions I made it was all three).

I got along just fine eating pizza at every whim for quite some time too.  Living in a college town made it quite easy:  I had Gus’ Monday, Rocky’s Tuesday, Rosa’s Wednesday and Toppers Thursday.  Life was good.

Then one day, just past my mid-twenties with the thrill of college life behind me, I noticed that some of the favorite clothes started to feel a little snug.  Shirts I had worn for years, filled with nostalgia no longer fit like they used to and my pants were getting tight in all the wrong places.

After a while, my mirror reflection was confirming what my constricting shirts and inner self-consciousness were:  The metabolism of my youth could no longer keep up; the daily pizzas were going straight to my hips, belly, chin, butt, arms, and back.  I was getting…..husky.

Slowing my rolls. 

Before long it was apparent that my diet needed to change and with a passion for pizza as strong as mine saying goodbye would be no easy feat.  The thought of losing the warmth and security of my old friend shot a ripple of anxieties through me.

What would I have left to look forward to?

Would dinner even be any fun anymore?

Would this mean I’d have to go grocery shopping?  And cook? 

Though I was apprehensive I knew the only way back from the belly I’d created and was to ease up on the cheese and dough.  I would need the discipline to pass on the late night deliveries and skip the leftover breakfast slices.

To curb my pizza habit I would have to figure out how to embrace change.  Looking back, the guide to making those changes may have been right in the blue and red pizza box on my post-college apartment table.

Dominos.

The first pizza place that comes to mind when I think of change is Dominos.  For as long as I can remember Dominos has been innovating their menu—sometimes gently following the trends of other chain behemoths like Pizza Hut (introducing pan crust), other times aggressively jerking the wheel to save face (revamping their hand-tossed crust).

From twisty bread in the 90’s to those breadstick loaves in the 2000s to the parmesan bread bites and full circle back to the current garlic bread twists, Dominos is always evolving.  There’s practically a different Dominos menu for every phase of my life.

My favorite time in Dominos history was in High School when they had the “Beat the clock” medium special in which the price of the pizza matched the time you called—my friends and I would load up.

Then in college, they revolutionized pizza specials forever with the trend-setting pick two for $5.99 deal.  Now they delve into technology leading the way with their pizza ordering app and “piece of the pie” rewards program.

Over the years they’ve experimented with pasta bowls, sandwiches, breadsticks stuffed with stuff and even used boneless chicken wings as the base for a crustless pizza amalgamation (still scratching my head on that one).

Whether you consider those experiments successes or failures Dominos continual exploration has undoubtedly contributed to their growth.

What shall I do in the next dire moment?  Focus my attention on the next right move.  -Jordan Peterson

Dominos ability to quickly pivot has allowed them to remain one of the biggest pizza companies in the world. I give them credit because course correcting is no easy task, especially if we don’t want to change the behavior that needs changing.

When I started packing on the lb’s it was apparent I couldn’t have my pizza every night and eat it too, but I didn’t want to give it up.  Change has never come easy for me and losing the comfort of those cheesy pizzas made me feel lost.

To ensure that I would have years of pizza eating ahead of me, it was obvious I’d have to switch it up—I would have to strike a balance.  I’d have to settle with only indulging on pizza once a week—for that night I chose Friday.  Today I’m healthier, happier and still enjoying my pizza everyday (by writing about it).

What pizza taught me:

Change is inevitable: our waist sizes can change, our jobs can change, our families can change and even our favorite pizzas can change.  How we adapt is what really matters.

When you stop growing, you start dying– William Burroughs

What I’m eating:  Domino’s thin cheese and garlic knots

What I’m still reading:  12 Rules for Life Jordan Peterson (it’s a long ass book).

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The Slice Is Always Cheesier on the Other Side of the Box

In Wisconsin when the first feel of Spring hits, my immediate response is to get my car windows down.  It may only be 50 degrees, but I can’t wait to get that fresh crisp air across my face—I want the aromatherapy of the thawing, damp, greenish-brown grass that exhales from beneath the accumulated salt and sand on the ground.

With Winter and my windows winding down, I’m always brought back to one of my fondest memories: I was seventeen and basking in the freedom of my first job.  I was driving around my small hometown, blasting music, chasing girls and earning my pizza scratch all while delivering sandwiches for Jimmy Johns.

Though I didn’t deliver pizzas during that time (I always preferred to be on the opposite side of that transaction), recently it was a  pizza delivery driver that evoked those same youthful feelings as he dropped off my Friday night fix.

A rat-a-tat-tat on the door signaled that my AJ’s pizza had arrived.

My delivery driver couldn’t have been more than 16 years old—pimple faced, mop-headed and timid—blaring music echoed from the cracked windows of his car on the street.  Suddenly, I was in his shoes and I couldn’t help but imagine the excitement his night held.

Dashing around from door to door with his adrenaline pumping—the pulsing sound of whatever punk teenagers listen to these days charting his course from house to house.  All the while not knowing what each knock or doorbell ring would bring.

It was Friday night, the busiest night of the week, so he’d be autonomous—quick in and out of the pizza shop re-upping on deliveries and then back out on the road.  He’d be making some quick cash and then in few short hours off with his buddies to do all the fun things punk teenagers do these days. No responsibility and his whole life ahead of him.  I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

AJ’s Pizza in Verona

I always cross my fingers when I order AJ’s Pizza in Verona because I don’t think I’m technically in their delivery area, but somehow they keep coming to me.

I imagine it’s because no one that works there is over 18—from the person answering the phone to that shaggy kid who comes to the door—it’s like the lost boys opened up a pizza shop in downtown Verona and could care less about who orders from where.  They’ll take the business and chance to get out on the road.

I appreciate their disregard for delivery zones.

AJ’s is one of the few places in my vicinity that delivers the kind of hole-in-the-wall pizza I crave all the time.  The pizza is thin and typically comes piled with extra cheese without even requesting it (I once ordered extra, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but it was overboard).

They cut the pies in triangles, I usually request squares to get it a little closer to my beloved mid-western tavern style. Also, I swear the larger the pizza you order the thinner the crust is, so I always go for at least a large even if my appetite calls for medium.

They also have killer cheesy breadsticks and their ranch is extra tangy and on the thin side; reminiscent of Rosa’s in Whitewater (extra nostalgia points).

Wanting what I can’t have.  

The emerging Springtime and the youthfulness of that AJ’s delivery driver gave me feelings of my youth that were fun to romanticize and for a fleeting moment made me want to go back to my beloved first job, but would I want to be that AJ’s driver working on a Friday night?

Heck no, I want sweatpants, a couch, HBO and to be eating the pizza not delivering it.  It was a classic case of the grass is always greener, the old proverb in which we feel the circumstances and conditions of others are better than your own, even when that’s not the case.

What pizza taught me:

It’s tempting to be envious of other people and other pizzas, but it’s more fulfilling when we can learn to appreciate what we have.  I always joke that when I retire I’m going to go back to my favorite job of delivery driving, but I think I’ll stick with the memories.

What I’m eating:  AJ’s Pizzeria large pepperoni-cut in squares, small cheese sticks.

What I’m reading: Jack Kornfield The Art of Forgiveness, Lovingkindness and Peace